


Stay The Night

by galerian_ash



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed III - Fandom
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M, Pretty Woman AU to be precise, Prostitution (sort of), Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had anyone asked what it was about the boy that caught his eye, Haytham would've said that he didn't know. Of course, that would have been a bold-faced lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's Haytham's birthday today! To celebrate, I thought I'd post this... _thing_ I've been working on. I haven't been getting much sleep lately, so that's my excuse for thinking that a Pretty Woman AU was a good idea. I'm having a lot of fun writing it though, so what the hell! Here's to hoping you enjoy it, as well :)
> 
> I don't know how long this will end up being, but I hope to update it at least once a week. I'm not used to posting WIPs though, so please forgive me if I fail to do so.

Had anyone asked what it was about the boy that caught his eye, Haytham would've said that he didn't know. Of course, that would have been a bold-faced lie.

Sentimentality wasn't a desirable trait for a man of his stature, and therefore not something he liked admitting to — not even to himself.

Still, he pulled over. He left the car running and stared straight at the boy; leaving no doubt as to what he wanted. Surprisingly, the boy seemed to hesitate. Finally though, he pushed off the alley wall he'd been leaning against and walked over. Standing directly under the streetlight and bending down to peer into the car window, Haytham finally got a good look at him.

Not a day over twenty.

As if sentimentality hadn't been bad enough. Now, something akin to sadness was rearing its ugly head as well.

"Do you... want anything?"

Well, that was awkward. Unusually so, it seemed, even though Haytham wasn't in the habit of picking up streetwalkers — in fact, had someone suggested the possibility of him doing so a mere hour ago, he would've laughed in their face. Laughter he promptly would've choked on, if the same someone had gone on to add that said streetwalker would remind him of Ziio.

"Yes," he heard himself reply. "I could do with some company tonight, if you are so inclined."

The boy nodded, but made no further attempt to advance the situation.

"Would you like to get into the car?" Haytham prompted.

Again, that odd moment of hesitation. Whatever it was that held him back, however, couldn't be worth much — the boy got into the passenger seat quickly enough.

Haytham stepped on the gas. They rode in silence for a while, before he cleared his throat. "I assume you wish to be paid upfront?"

The boy jerked. "Yes," he said, though it sounded more like a question.

Unable to quell an annoyed sigh, Haytham pushed on. "Well, then? How much?"

"Oh. Sorry," the boy said, instantly making Haytham feel guilty — yet another unwelcome emotion.

"No," he offered, " _I_ am sorry. My wallet is in the glove compartment. Please help yourself."

Out of the corner of his eye, Haytham watched as the boy took out his wallet. He stared at it for a moment, no doubt pleased to find it thick with both money and credit cards. Then, to Haytham's surprise, he plucked out a single bill — fifty dollars, the lowest denomination in there — before putting the wallet back.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Haytham swallowed. "Is this your first time, if I may ask?"

"Of course not!" The answer was too immediate and heated to be anything except a lie.

"It'd be okay, you know, if it were. It's not as if I have done this before."

The boy turned his head, looking — truly looking — at Haytham for the first time. He returned the gaze, meeting a pair of brown eyes that were achingly familiar.

"What's your name?" he asked, desperate to get Ziio out of his head. It could only lead to heartache.

"Connor."

"Nice to meet you, Connor. I'm Haytham," he said, omitting his surname, just like the boy — _Connor_ — had done. "And," he continued, "we've arrived at our destination."

Connor looked out the window, taking in the sight of the towering hotel with obvious awe.

"I hope you're not afraid of heights," Haytham said, as he stepped out of the car and handed the keys to the waiting valet.

A slight smirk tugged on the corners of Connor's lips, not quite blooming into a real smile. "The higher the better, in my opinion."

"Good!" Haytham replied, genuinely meaning it. He loved heights himself; the feeling of being between the vast skies and the earth — it was as close to the soaring flight of his namesake as he'd ever get.

Connor had a strong build, and was just as tall as Haytham. But as they walked through the lobby he hunched his shoulders forward, as if trying to make himself smaller. The sight bothered Haytham, and he found himself with the illogical desire of wanting to see Connor walk with his head held high.

He normally would've stopped by the desk to ask if there'd been any messages left for him, but now he headed straight for the elevators. If it was something urgent, they could send someone to let him know later. He paid more than enough for a bit of extra service, after all.

The problem with mirrored elevators was that it showed you the truth; forced you to take a good, hard look at yourself. Haytham saw himself standing there, immaculate and unyielding in his bespoke three-piece suit. And next to him was Connor, also staring at the mirror, no doubt taking note of the worn jeans and the threadbare sweater he wore.

So help him, but Haytham was beginning to get cold feet. What had he been thinking, anyway? Being cold and ruthless came easy to him these days; he crushed business rivals without a second thought — but that wasn't the same as taking advantage of a young man who was clearly down and out. And for what? A long-lost, fleeting memory?

The ding of the elevator heralded both the arrival at the top floor, and a decision.

Connor followed him as he walked to the door and unlocked it, stepping back to courteously allow his guest to enter first. He did so with a small nod, walking into the suite with the same sense of wide-eyed wonder as he'd displayed in the vestibule.

Haytham set to taking off his jacket and loosening his tie, debating how to best tell Connor that his services were no longer required. A strained cough made him look back.

"Should I — do you want me to help you with that?" he asked, indicating the clothes.

So much for coming up with a good excuse. Might as well take the bull by the horns, then. "No, thank you. In fact, I... I'm sorry, but I fear this was an ill-advised idea."

Truth be told, he'd expected Connor to be relieved. Instead, his mouth quirked in obvious disappointment. "Oh," he whispered, eyes downcast.

"Did you truly want this?" Haytham asked, unable to stop himself. "I couldn't help but get the impression that you were, ah, _inexperienced_. Wouldn't it be better to get out while you still can? If it's a matter of money-"

"No," Connor cut him off, "it's not that."

Haytham frowned. "What, then?"

When the answer finally came, it was spoken so quietly that he almost failed to hear it. "It's just... really cold, outside. I was glad to sleep inside, even if it meant I had to pay for it."

A long, long time ago, Haytham had made a conscious decision to forget that he had a heart — to live without a place for pain and regret to take root. Now, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise, he was sharply reminded of its existence.

"Are you a runaway?"

A mirthless smile twisted Connor's mouth. "No."

Haytham nodded slowly, having expected as much. "Stay the night," he said.

It was hard to say who was more surprised by the offer. Connor's head snapped up, looking at him with confusion. "Have you changed your mind?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not entirely certain I _ever_ intended to sleep with you."

"Then why...?"

That was not something he was willing to reveal. "It matters not. You can take the bed," he said, inclining his head towards the door to the bedroom. The bed inside was more than big enough for two people, but the boy deserved to feel at least somewhat safe —sleeping next to a stranger wouldn't facilitate that.

For a moment it seemed like pride warred with weariness. Then Connor nodded, accepting the offer. "What about you? Will you not sleep?" he asked.

"I have some work to attend to. Please feel free to use the bathroom. There should be a spare toothbrush in there, and if you'd like to take a shower I can find some clean clothes for you to wear."

Connor was clearly uncomfortable with accepting help, and showed it by emphatically shaking his head. "You've done more than enough. Thank you, I — I'll just use that toothbrush, if you're sure it's okay...?"

"Of course."

Connor nodded once more, and disappeared into the bathroom. Deflating as soon as he was gone, Haytham sank into the couch and groaned. He almost hoped that Connor would rob him blind during the night, if only to defuse the genuine _care_ he was beginning to feel for the boy.

By the time Connor was done, he'd settled in for the night — laptop in hand, and various notes strewn all over the couch.

Connor hesitated by the bedroom door, before turning to look back at Haytham. "Good night," he said, almost shyly.

"Sleep well," Haytham replied.

Brown eyes studied him for a moment longer. It was a relief when he finally went inside and closed the door behind him.

Sighing, Haytham set to work.

\----

Pulling all-nighters, only to wake up in the morning — disoriented and usually with a serious crick in his neck — was nothing new to Haytham. So it took him a few heartbeats to remember that no, this wasn't a typical occurrence after all. He hurried to sit up, only to discover that someone had covered him with a blanket.

Naturally, that someone could only be Connor. Unable to keep from smiling, he looked around. "Connor?" he called, when not seeing him anywhere.

No answer. Frowning, Haytham got to his feet. The bedroom was empty, but he stood there for a moment anyway, taking in the clumsily made bed.

He walked to the kitchenette next. Connor wasn't in there either, but the table was set for breakfast. There was an omelet on a plate, and a note next to it.

_I'm sorry it's nothing fancy, there wasn't a whole lot to use in your fridge. Thank you for your kindness. It meant a lot to me._

The fifty-dollar bill was lying underneath the note.

Reaching out, Haytham touched the omelet. It was barely warm. Swearing, he raced out the door — not giving a damn that his clothes were a wrinkly mess, or that he didn't actually know what he'd do if he managed to find Connor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! Your feedback is the best motivation there is, and never fails to brighten my day :)

The alley was empty. Haytham had expected as much, and wasn't about to let that deter him. First off all, he needed to have a decent plan.

The area wasn't familiar to him, but he did know there was a park nearby — and parks tended to have a map sign, which he could use to properly orient himself. That decided, he parked the car and went by foot.

It was cold, misting his breath. No wonder Connor hadn't wanted to sleep outside. It was a depressing line of thought, and he shook his head to clear it. He'd always been good at focusing on the task at hand, and this time would be no different.

The park was pretty small, but it did indeed have a sign. Just too bad there was graffiti all over the damn thing. He grunted in annoyance, and squinted at the obscured map.

"Haytham?"

The call was filled with disbelief, but he still recognized the voice. He whirled around, trying to spot Connor.

"No, up here."

Connor was sitting in a tree. No, sitting wasn't quite the right word — _lounging_ , more like it. "What are you doing?" he managed to ask.

"I told you; I like heights," Connor answered, shrugging. Then his eyes narrowed. "What are _you_ doing?"

There was something defensive about the question, as if he expected to be accused of stealing the silverware. Haytham raised his hands, palms out, in what he hoped was an I-come-in-peace gesture.

"I have a proposition for you," he said.

Connor didn't reply. Haytham pressed on, spurred by the fact that Connor had at least relaxed a bit. "I'm in town on business, but it's also a vacation of sorts. I'd like to have your company. Nothing untoward," he quickly added, "just... companionship."

"Have you no family?"

Really, the boy had no manners. He said whatever was on his mind, without guile or any sense of decorum.

It was... _refreshing_.

"No," Haytham replied, trusting that one simple word to say it all.

With the grace and agility of a large cat, Connor made his way down the tree. He jumped the last bit, landing in an easy crouch in front of Haytham before standing to meet his gaze.

"Neither have I," Connor said.

It was a display of trust, to speak those words — but also one of kinship. Haytham smiled, grateful. "You accept, then?"

A small, hesitant smile graced Connor's lips. "On one condition."

"Yes? _Oh_ , of course, I'll naturally pay you for-"

"I sleep on the couch."

"-your time. Wait, what?"

"You looked really uncomfortable this morning. Me, I'll sleep just as well there as anywhere else."

Too stunned to protest, Haytham could only nod. Terms more or less agreed upon, he began walking back towards the car, Connor in tow.

"Say," Haytham drawled, "if we pick up some more eggs and whatnot, do you think you could make a couple more omelets? I didn't take the time to eat the one you left for me, so I've worked up quite an appetite."

"Yeah, sure. I can't promise that they'll taste good though — I mean, _I_ think they're fine, but..." he trailed off.

Haytham snorted. "But I have a refined palate that will only approve of lobster? Is that what you're thinking?"

"Sort of," Connor admitted. "Not true, then?"

"Not true at all. For what it's worth, finding that omelet was a lovely surprise. I can't remember the last time someone cooked for me."

"I'm glad you liked it, even if you didn't actually taste it." Again, that hesitant little smile. As irrational — and potentially dangerous — as the urge was, Haytham couldn't wait to coax a full smile out of him.

\----

"This really isn't necessary."

"I'm afraid it is," Haytham calmly replied, giving Connor a tiny nudge through the doors of the menswear boutique. "The opera has a dress code, and jeans simply won't do."

"Then maybe I shouldn't go," Connor muttered, somewhat sullenly. His attitude would've grated on Haytham under normal circumstances, but he looked so very out of place in the store — and it was painfully obvious that he was aware of that fact.

"Nonsense. The plan for tonight has been longstanding, and I won't miss it for a lack of proper attire."

"Can you even get a ticket for me, this late?"

Haytham grinned. "I always reserve a whole balcony for myself."

Connor raised a rather eloquent eyebrow at that, but whatever comment he'd had was interrupted by the arrival of a salesman. "Hello," he greeted, "how may I help you?"

Haytham had toyed with the idea of getting a tuxedo for Connor. Now, he decided against it — it'd be overkill, as it wasn't even opening night. A suit seemed like a better choice, but even that might leave Connor feeling uncomfortable. "Business casual," he replied, "something simple, but still appropriate for a night at the opera."

"Of course, if you'll just come this way..." As he said that, he reached out to put a guiding hand on Connor's elbow. Connor instantly stepped back, avoiding the touch.

Not missing a beat, the salesman simply nodded and led the way. "Do you have a particular color in mind, or some other request?"

"Anything will do," Connor said, with the air of a man who wore clothes for warmth and common decency, and little else.

Haytham cleared his throat. "There is unfortunately no time to have it tailored to his specifics, so a split-yoke shirt is a must. As for color," he continued, pausing to give Connor a sideways glance, "a muted blue, perhaps?"

A selection of clothes were picked out, and handed to Connor — who once again shied away from the salesman, when he tried to determine the width of his shoulders. Taking the hint, Haytham stepped forward. "Thank you for your assistance. Should we have further need of you, I'll come find you."

"Very well. You can try on the clothes right over there."

Haytham nodded, and followed Connor to the fitting rooms. He disappeared inside without a single word.

After a while, his voice floated through the doors. "Are you aware of the price on these?"

"Don't worry about it."

"No, seriously, they're really expensive."

Unable to resist the urge to tease, Haytham scoffed. "In case it missed your notice, I'm rich."

"Then spend your money on something more worthwhile," Connor said, voice clipped.

Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he slowly enunciated, with the patience of a saint, "but you only have one set of clothes. In my opinion, that qualifies this as a worthwhile cause."

"That's not true," Connor quietly retorted. "I have clothes, I just — can't go get them."

That got Haytham's attention. He opened his mouth to ask, right as Connor stepped out of the fitting room, completely robbing him of his words.

It wasn't news that Connor was handsome; that had been plain to see right from the start. Now, however, he was confronted with the fact that Connor wasn't just attractive in general — he was attractive _to Haytham_.

"No good, huh?" Connor grimaced, misinterpreting Haytham's stunned silence.

"Sorry, I — it looks great. You clean up nice," he added, but the joke sounded weak even to his own ears.

"If you say so."

For the sake of Haytham's sanity, it'd probably be for the best if Connor stuck to the pleated pants he was currently wearing — as opposed to the flat-front, tighter ones. Then again... "Try the other pair of pants, coupled with the off-white shirt."

Connor disappeared into the fitting room again, giving Haytham a few precious moments to regroup. He damn well needed it.

When he next appeared, his hair had gotten mussed up somewhere in the process of changing. A few tendrils of hair had escaped his half ponytail, and without thinking Haytham reached out to tuck them behind his ear.

He caught himself in time, and hastily withdrew his hand. Connor gave him an unreadable look, but thankfully didn't comment on the slip.

"So," Connor said after a moment of silence, "will this do? Or is the other set better suited?"

"We'll take them both. Pick out some other essentials too, please — underwear and the like, and something to wear to bed."

"I sleep in the nude," Connor said, utterly careless.

Desperate to change the subject, Haytham brought up the odd remark from earlier. "Say, what exactly did you mean when you said you couldn't go get your clothes?"

Connor looked reluctant to answer, and picked at the selection of socks for a moment — he settled on the cheapest pair, Haytham noticed. "All my belongings are at my old home. I had to leave in a rush, and I don't think I'd be welcome to return."

Really, that only raised further questions. "Why did you leave? Did something happen?"

"I turned eighteen," Connor said, as if that answered everything.

"I fail to see the significance."

"It simply meant that my foster parents no longer had any legal obligation towards me. They'd done their duty." The explanation was matter-of-fact; no emotion whatsoever in his voice.

Haytham recognized the façade for what it truly was — it was a familiar defense mechanism, after all, one he'd used many times — and cursed himself for forcing the subject. He had every intention of having a proper conversation about it, but now, while standing in a store, was hardly the time.

"I'm sorry. Let's drop the subject for now, shall we?"

"There's nothing more to say, anyway."

"Mm," Haytham hummed, noncommittally. "Now, are there any more essentials you need?"

Connor shook his head. "This'll be more than enough, thank you."

"Good. Then we just need to pick up a pair of shoes, as well."

"Do you have time for that? You said you had a meeting this afternoon."

That was true enough, but the way Connor said it made it sound more like a desperate attempt to get out of more shopping. Haytham forced down a grin at the thought. "We'll have enough time," he said.

Connor sighed.

\----

"Relax," Haytham whispered.

Connor, if possible, only stiffened more. He'd been high-strung from the moment they'd left for the opera, and it had only gotten worse once they'd arrived. The woman who'd grabbed his arm hadn't made things better. Connor had clearly forced himself not to flinch away, perhaps suspecting that without his support she'd fall on her inebriated face — poor show, that.

Now, they'd finally made their way to the balcony. Connor immediately sank into a chair, and Haytham followed suit.

"Sorry if I'm not..." Connor trailed off, an unhappy twist to his mouth.

"Hm?"

"You spent a lot of money to make me look like I fit in, but I — I'm acting all wrong."

"Hey, no, that's not true," Haytham hurried to say, suddenly feeling like a heel. "You're doing just fine, I promise. And if you're referring to that scene earlier, well, that woman was at fault, not you. You were every bit a gentleman."

Connor let out a wry chuckle. "I doubt that's true, but thank you for saying so."

It would've been so easy to just lean a bit to the side, and kiss that mouth — so tantalizingly close to the true smile Haytham longed to see. He didn't, of course, but the mere desire to do so was certainly bad enough.

The curtains opened, and the opera began. Haytham took a deep breath, and did his best to focus on it.

Thirty minutes in, it became obvious that operas weren't really to Connor's taste. Either that, or he was just really damn tired. His eyes kept drifting shut, only for him to jerk awake when his head snapped back.

Haytham knew all this because he was paying more attention to his companion than the people on stage. Which was quite ironic, really, considering how long he'd been looking forward to this particular performance — it was the same as the one he'd seen with his father, a frighteningly long time ago. He'd been a child then, and had appreciated the opera to the same extent that Connor currently was.

He was debating whether or not to rouse Connor and suggest they go back to the hotel, when he let out a frustrated growl and abruptly leaned to the side, head slumping onto Haytham's shoulder.

Not even daring to breathe, Haytham sat frozen while Connor began to softly snore. It was torture, absolute torture — and he cherished every second of it.

Only when the closing aria began did he allow himself to move, slightly tilting his head to bury his nose in Connor's hair. The smell was familiar; Connor had apparently used Haytham's shampoo while showering. That idea was oddly arousing, but nowhere near as arousing as the personal scent that lingered beneath.

The opera ended and Connor woke to the sound of applause. He slowly sat up, blinking drowsily before a look of horror took over his features as he realized just what he'd been sleeping against.

"Good morning," Haytham said, grinning widely.

Connor's left cheek had a couple of red indentations from being pressed against the fabric of Haytham's shirt, and his hair on that side was a mess as well. All in all, he looked adorable — although that was an observation best kept to himself, Haytham decided.

Connor was transfixed, staring at something on Haytham's chest. He looked down as well, and saw a small dark stain.

"I've _drooled_ on you," Connor groaned. The utter dismay in his voice made it difficult to not burst into laughter, but Haytham somehow managed to keep a straight face.

"I'd worry more about your neck, if I were you — can't have been comfortable to sleep like that."

"I slept great, actually," he mumbled, eyes still fixed on the stain. "I'm really sorry. I even missed the opera."

Haytham had missed it as well, but he wasn't about to admit that. "Just offer up some applauds, and no one will be any the wiser."

Connor frowned. "I... don't really care about what they think. Are _you_ angry? Or disappointed?" He spoke the last word with apprehension; acting like he'd vastly prefer anger to disappointment.

Something inside of Haytham's chest constricted. He put his hand on Connor's leg, squeezing reassuringly. "I had a good time. Thank you for coming with me, Connor."

Two things happened. One, despite his previously demonstrated aversion to being touched, Connor didn't move away. And secondly, he _smiled_. A genuine smile that lit up his brown eyes; every bit the beautiful sight that Haytham had expected it to be.

No, Haytham wasn't disappointed in the least.


End file.
